


slow and steady we go

by CountessCzan



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Spoilers, slowish-burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountessCzan/pseuds/CountessCzan
Summary: Am I disturbing you? His own voice is cracked, the last dregs of sleep not quite wearing off just yet. He should just close the call and pretend it didn't happen, but what he wants is different from what he believes he should do. He wants Yoosung to talk to him, he wants to hear Yoosung's voice, he wants to tell Yoosung about his dreams and his nightmares.There are a lot of things he'd like to do with Yoosung.(Loving him is one of those.)





	slow and steady we go

He can't quite shake off the irritating rhythm inside his ear, like a fly disturbingly buzzing behind him, like the sharp sound of a barber's cut humming. It persists, clinging onto his eardrums and burying itself inside his ear canal, and whilst it may sound morbid, he realises it's not the annoying sound of someone else's breathing. The sound beats to the rhythm of his heart,  _ba-dump, ba-dump,_ and it doesn't go away - it gets louder, insistent and stubborn. He wishes it would go. He wishes he doesn't have to be reminded of the locks placed tightly on his limbs, or of the tendrils of vine constricting his chest. Like a human growing limbs, like an angel unfurling their wings for the very first time, it aches; it doesn't fit the original biology of his body, of his existence.

He wishes he doesn't have to feel the ache when he's around the person who has the sun trapped inside his body. He knows pain, he knows pleasure, he knows both. Has seen both. Has felt both. He thinks it's what makes him, poker-hot anger and bitter sorrow towards a mother who trapped him since his life, towards a father whose sole existence proved to be his bane, towards a brother that had known happiness before he did. He thinks pleasure is a flimsy thing, like a honeyed praise from curled, pink lips, or maybe a benevolent smile stretching on a lovely face. But this - whatever this is - is so foreign to him, and it leaves him aching. He doesn't know what this is. He wants to know what this is.

Saeran  _wants._

And that's exactly what the problem is.

 

i.

He considers himself an outsider, a stranger who got lost and accidentally entered a family reunion, a kid who got into the wrong school bus. There's laughter and happiness everywhere, inside jokes that he's not privy to, and sometimes he can't stop the sneer forming on his lips as he watches the chatroom with their antics. Yet, he would enter chatroom after chatroom, even though nobody notices him, except those times when Saeyoung drags him into a conversation. Whenever that happens, it unsettles him. Pieces of puzzle that don't fit, all the furniture moved three inches to the left - it shakes him. Saeran doesn't want to admit it, but he feels like an intruder.

But.

But there are times, when the room has gotten dark and he's too unbothered to flick the light switch open, when the screen's too bright in his face, that he opens a chatroom and types. _Hello,_ a plea for a conversation.  _Good evening,_ have you eaten yet, how have you been today.  _Is anyone here,_ have you all left me again. Sometimes he sends it, most times he deletes it. These times are precious moments, because it is when Saeran feels the desire to be  _part_ of them.

He wants to hold on to that desire, for he fears that if he lets go, it won't come back. He tries to convince himself he isn't doing this for Saeyoung, but no matter how good of a liar someone is, at the very end the truth bites at the subconscious and lets its presence known. He knows he's doing this for Saeyoung, and for the only woman in his life who's been genuinely kind to him. (Maybe, maybe, Rika was. Maybe, maybe, Rika had been.) A pleasing, fuzzy feeling settles on his stomach whenever he coaxes a laugh or a praise from one of the members and Saeran thinks that this isn't so bad. Perhaps he can do this for himself.

The truth is: Saeran feels the beginning of a home building itself in a set of binary code, _one zero one zero one zero_ , in countless conversations and quarrelling,  _'don't you dare bring that cat to the party, you trust fund jerk' 'when will i ever have a good night sleep' 'lolol is so fun, let's play'_ , in tables laden with breakfast dishes and three mugs with their names scrawled elegantly on it,  _Saeran, Saeyoung, and her._ The truth is: He can't lie to himself and say he's not part of them, because  _he is,_ because the RFA members has welcomed him perhaps not with open arms but with willingness to see, to listen, to know who Saeran is, who he is at the very core. And all of it - he basks underneath the comfort of being in a chatroom with them, and even if sometimes he doesn't talk to them, that's okay.

It's not a foreign feeling, this sense of belonging, but this time it's.. different. He doesn't have to earn anyone's approval, and even though there are nights when he contemplates leaving, he doesn't. He's extremely conscious of his own words and actions. Back in Mint Eye, even though they belong to one group, there's always a scramble for the Saviour's approval and attention. Here, inside the trusty messenger app that his own brother made, the only conflicts were Jaehee Kang's lack of necessary sleep or the ambiguity of Jumin Han's sexuality. It's refreshing, to say the least.

Here, Saeran is comforted.

 

ii.

_Yoosung: Good morning!_

_Yoosung: Have you eaten breakfast yet? I tried to make another omelette and I'm pretty successful with it!_

_Yoosung: [sends a picture]_

_Yoosung: Hehe. Do you think it's nice?_

_Unknown: It looks delicious._

_Yoosung: Really?? You think so?_

_Yoosung: Also, when are you gonna change your name to something else other than 'Unknown'? It's kinda creepy.. ^^_

_Unknown: I'm going to keep it, then._

_Yoosung: >_<_

 

iii.

There's an unkempt park located near the apartment they moved into, with overgrown weeds of different heights shooting up, the occasional litter that high school students left scattered here and there, but it depicts a certain tranquil scene when the sun sets down and washes the whole area with a golden light that Saeran likes to see. For this reason, he goes there as much as he can. For another reason, he believes that Saeyoung and his fiance would appreciate their solitude for once. So Saeran dons on his jacket and walks out on the pavement, head tilted towards the sky.

It's the one thing that doesn't change in his books: the sky, that is. Today it might be rainy, and tomorrow it might not be, but just because there are different phases and different cloud formations doesn't mean it wasn't the sky yesterday as it is today. And it's always such a pleasure discovering the newness of the sky; he can almost pretend that he is a normal boy with a normal life.

Kim Yoosung finds him sitting on a swing set one lazy afternoon, when the winds' careful breeze soothes even the grumpiest. Saeran doesn't notice him because he comes through the back - Yoosung taps him on the shoulder and Saeran whirls around, eyes blown wide with alarm, and the blond gives him one of the sunniest smiles.

 _I didn't expect to see you here, Saeran,_ sugary sweet words uttered from cherry pink lips, honey seeping from between the cracks of white teeth; pale hand curled up in a greeting, happiness sharpened at the edges.

Saeran shrugs, limbs rolling as careless as he could possibly be, and bites back the answer in his lips. The chains of the swing set are cold against his hands, but he gripes it, hand warm enough to make a contradiction like frost in the summer.

 _Can I sit with you,_ asks Yoosung, lukewarm notes, a splash of cool mint green watercolor on a blank canvas. He tilts his head to the side, a dozen questions carved in the violet of his eyes, but he doesn't say anymore and waits for Saeran's acquiescence.

_.. Suit yourself._

He sits, then, adjusting himself on the uncomfortable metal of the swing and starts pushing it. The joints of the set are creaking dangerously, the insides possibly rusted from years of being unused, but it doesn't deter the blond nor does it scare him. Saeran can only watch him push back and forth, a look on his face that hovers into contentment, and the unbidden thought of  _He's beautiful_ hurls itself in the forefront of Saeran's brain. Instantly, he squashes it down and locks it tightly in a chest, ignoring the way his cheeks flush at the irrational fear of his thought being heard. Yoosung is neither a telepath nor a mindreader, he can't possibly be, but Saeran  _knows_ what he thought and that is enough to leave him embarrassed.

 _Why are you here,_ the question rises from his lips, floating in the air between them. Saeran startles at the question before he realises it came from  _himself,_ and it should not be surprising, but it is. He's never been one to start conversations yet here he is, doing exactly that.

 _Don't you think it's beautiful,_ came the soft, not-answer, a lilt in his voice that suggests the wonder that is buried inside the tone. The swinging slows down to laziness, and Yoosung's face are turned towards the sky, where the sun was positioned. _The sun, that is. Rika always said so._

Saeran shifts his gaze away from the blond and peers at the sun. There's nothing majestic about it, it's the sun, it's just bright - these are the things he could have told Yoosung, had he been feeling antagonistic, but he isn't so he doesn't. Instead, he sighs and looks away from the sun and to the sky itself, to the countless cloud formations that stretched upon the horizon.

 _I think the sky's more beautiful, though,_ he points out.

Yoosung twists his head to look at him.  _Huh? The sky? What's so good about the sky?_

 _What's so good about the sun?_ counters Saeran, shrugging. The sleeve of his jacket droops down, and it exposes the inked arm underneath it. Yoosung's gaze travels down, breath hitching when he spots the tattoo. Saeran doesn't react to it.  _It's only bright, and most times it's suffocatingly hot._

_The sun provides heat and life for other living things. Humans, as a whole, need sunlight, you know?_

For some reason, Saeran thinks of Rika. He thinks of the Saviour, and how different they are. Before Mint Eye, Rika was this ray of sunlight that showed him the sky again after Saeyoung left. Rika nurtured and cared for him, with V by her side. In the church that Saeyoung frequented, Saeran learned how it is to communicate with people and briefly found a small eternity of repeating happiness. Then, slowly, Rika turned into the Saviour, and she was no longer the same sun that Saeran knew her to be. Back then, he thought that was natural, that it was real and she was real and that's how life should be, but now he has Saeyoung and his fiance to show him that no, that wasn't healthy. Rika turned into the Saviour and the sun that Saeran has come to love shifted into a scorching, blinding ball of fire.

 _But the sun can burn. The sun can destroy, too,_ says Saeran, decisiveness rolling from his tongue, sharp and as tangy as sweet orange on a cold evening.  _On the other hand, the sky.. it remains the same. Its clouds might change, but the sky remains the sky, and it will never hurt you._

_Why do you like the sky so much, Saeran?_

He stills. An itch to speak the truth lights a fire under his skin, but - he decides to settle for the lesser truth.

_Because it's the one thing that I was not supposed to look at when I was a kid._

 

iii.

_Yoosung: Saeran, do you think we have other lives?_

_Yoosung: Like, reincarnation._

_Unknown: Maybe. Why do you ask?_

_Yoosung: I don't know. It's silly.. but I think, that if we do have past lives.. I think we've met before._

_Yoosung: Haha!_

_Unknown: Maybe._

_Yoosung: I knew you'd understand me! Well.. if we do have them.. I hope we can meet in the next lifetime as well._

_Unknown: So eager to meet me in the next lifetime, when we have this time._

_Yoosung: Just making sure! Insurance, you know? I'll look for you eeeeverywhere. (“⌒∇⌒”)_

 

iv.

There's a gun in his shaky hands, there's a body with hair the right shade of mint as the symbol they proudly wear, there's a man standing in front of him that resembles his long lost brother, and there's a woman screaming.

That's always how he dreams, always what he dreams. He dreams of that day. He dreams of shooting the body over and over again, he dreams of being bathed in blood, blood that he can never wash away, blood that will never leave him, and he  _breaks._ Saeran always breaks, gasping from the terrors of his nightly vision, hand clutching at unseen figures in the dark, fearful eyes that sheds tears relentlessly. His voice gets stuck in his throat, like fishes caught in the hook, like a car getting hit by a truck. It stays. He gasps, he sobs, he breaks.

He can't even comfort himself with  _It's not real._

(It is. It was.)

But Saeran's so, so tired, so one night after he wakes up, drenched in sweat, his hands search for his phone. Opens it, dials a person's number.

 _He..llo?_ Yoosung's voice is lively, distracted, and not even the least bit sleepy. Saeran looks at the time: 2:14AM. He wonders why Yoosung's still up, then remembers that the boy often complained about his addiction to LOLOL. Saeran figures he must be playing, and instantly feels ashamed at having inconvenienced him.

 _Am I disturbing you?_ His own voice is cracked, the last dregs of sleep not quite wearing off just yet. He should just close the call and pretend it didn't happen, but what he wants is different from what he believes he should do. He wants Yoosung to talk to him, he wants to hear Yoosung's voice, he wants to tell Yoosung about his dreams and his nightmares.

_I'm actually in a game right now. Oh! Hey, that's supposed to be mine! Ahh.. sorry. But I can multitask! Is something wrong?_

Saeran hesitates. He closes his eyes and the image of V lying on the ground flashes.  _Can you.. talk?_

_Eh? I mean, sure! What do you want to talk about?_

_Just talk._

_SHIT! HEY, WHERE DID MY TANK -- oh, sorry, Saeran, I'm so sorry, that wasn't meant for you._

_It's okay. I.. I can just listen to you._

_Wait, are you okay with that? I'd like to talk to you, really, but.._

_It's okay. Just play. How about.. tell me what your character is doing?_

_Hm? Oh, well, our guild is actually under attack right now, and we're.._

They stay that way until the morning sun creeps up and shines a light through Saeran's window. After Yoosung's raid ends, he murmurs a sleepy  _I'm going to try and take a nap.. Good..night, Saeran._

Saeran doesn't drop the call. He listens as Yoosung's breathing slowly evens out, and, with a whisper, says,  _Goodnight, Yoosung._

 

v.

He thinks he knows this feeling now.

It occurs in the strangest of times. Strange. Strange. Stranger still is that it occurs whenever he's talking to Yoosung, or around Yoosung in general. Saeran doesn't know what to call it, until he sees Saeyoung and his fiance in the living room, dancing to a music-less number, with his brother smiling so hard and her laughing joyfully as Saeyoung dips her. He watches them, spinning together, hands tangled in one another, impossibly close and impossibly happy. He sees them, and thinks of Yoosung.

There are many things he'd like to do with Yoosung. Get ice cream with him, for one. Go to the beach, for another.  _And,_ he thinks, eyeing the happy couple snuggling in the couch,  _maybe I'd like that, as well._

But for now, he settles for the thing he can achieve:

He opens his phone and dials a number.

_'Hey, it's me.'_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it! I had fun writing it, so PLEASE leave a comment on your way out. My previous Yooran fic received quite a lot of positivity, and it made me so happy, so I'd really appreciate it if you can comment on this one as well. (Yes, an AAAAAA as comment makes me smile.)
> 
> Also, I'm on @sawamiyukis on twitter, and @countesscee on tumblr. :)


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